Gemotions

He stared at the blank screen, the cursor blinking accusingly. The deadline loomed, a monstrous shadow in the corner of his mind. Thomas, the man who always made writing feel effortless, had vanished. His office was stripped bare, the only evidence of his existence a single, dusty coffee mug. A strange pressure built behind his eyes, a feeling like his skull was too small for his brain.

He slammed his fist on the desk. The sound echoed in the empty room. He had a million ideas, a thousand drafts, and a single, crippling sense of inadequacy. He felt a tremor in his hands as he opened his email for the tenth time that morning, hoping for a message, any message. Nothing.